April 23
by Centroides
Summary: I know it is a bit late but this came to me while on the way somewhere else. Just a snippet.


April 23

Lieutenant Garrison was annoyed. HQ sent him and his men on mission after mission then berated him for falling behind in his paperwork. The Sargent Major was a big help but as the CO it ultimately came down to him. And then there were their accommodations. They had billeted him in a wonderful old home then refused or delayed requests to maintain the building. Last week it was the toilet. Casino had managed to fix it for now. He eyed the latest problem. Last night when he had closed the window in his Office the latch had broken.

It was not that he had to worry about the convicts upstairs escaping out his office window; they had already sawed through their barracks window bars and then strung them to look like they were still there. He also did not have to worry about intruders since their base was ringed with armed guards. He was trying to keep in mind that someday when the war was won that the Army was going to have to turn the place over to the rightful owners. These people were not going to be pleased if the place was falling down. The window latch was a small thing but in a storm the window could blow open and the rain could damage the floor. It was bad enough that one of the cons, probably Chief who was the best shot, had damaged some of the statues by using them for target practice. The poor Sargent Major had had a fit when he found out. Hopefully the owners would put it down to bombing damage.

At least the warmer weather was here and they would not have to use the fireplaces as much. It also meant that the chimneys would probably have to be swept. Hopefully the Sargent Major knew more about that.

Garrison walked over to the window and moved the large rock he had placed on the sill to keep the window shut. Good thing it swung inward. The day was cloudy but they were high clouds, it did not look like rain. From his vantage point he could see out on to the back terrace where Chief was sitting on the step. Normally alert, he seemed to be slumped, his head resting on the stone spindles. That was unusual. Chief had missed breakfast which was not unheard of but combined with his current posture was a sign of trouble.

He could do with some fresh air. Closing and blocking the window he headed outside.

As soon as he stepped out he felt the difference. Inside was cold and damp but out here the air held a freshness that was welcome though the breeze was cool. Looking out to the surrounding gardens he could see hints of green. Life was returning.

He crossed the terrace as he looked to the steps. Chief was still there but he had sat up straight, probably as soon as he heard the door open. Craig walked over and sat down beside him.

"What's going on?"

"Nothin'."

"Something is going on. What is it?" He knew the Indian would be embarrassed to have revealed his emotions so he avoided looking at his face and stared out to the gardens instead.

"It's nothin'." It was not boredom or anger. There was something and it fit in with the slumped posture. He sounded sad.

"Something is bothering you. What is it?"

From the corner of his eye he saw Chief look at him and he turned to face him. The depth of feeling surprised him, not that it was there but that he was revealing it.

Chief shrugged and averting his eyes he said, "It's the day my dog died." He stood up and turned to go back in the house.

Garrison was surprised. His dog? He must have really loved that dog to be this upset and how long ago had that been? One way to find out. "What happened to him? Tell me about him." He waited, listening as the footsteps stopped. There was a long pause so he turned to look at the man standing on the terrace. The mask was back in place.

Chief weighed his options. Could he tell him? What would he do with the information? Could he use it against him? He had saved his life… He treated him good. Would he laugh at him?

He returned slowly to his place on the step and sat looking at his hands. He took a breath and started softly. "His name was Rudy, an' he wasn't a dog."

That intrigued his companion who sat silently waiting for more.

"When I was at the Indian school I…" Chief tried to figure out how to explain without sounding pathetic. "I tried to run away an' they caught me. The punishment was to be beaten and locked in the root cellar. They beat me until I could hardly stand." He took several breaths avoiding Garrison eyes. He did not want to see what he thought of his failure. "Even though it was against the rules he came an' stayed with me. Maybe his Pa was a Shaman 'cause he kept saying these words over and over, whispered like, like it was a chant, a healing chant. An' it worked. After a while the pain wasn't so bad."

"Next time it happened he did it again. Then he got sick. They wouldn't let me go see'm. Didn't even know he was dead until I saw'm bury'm. He died and I never told'm thanks for helping me."

"How old was he?"

"I don' know. Maybe eight or nine, maybe ten."

So young, thought Garrison. "You think he knew some of the healing rituals at that age?"

"A good shaman starts real young. Takes a long time to learn all the rituals, the words, the plants."

"Have you tried thanking him now?" Garrison talked to his grandfather even though he had died many years ago. He thought this might work for the young man but he was stopped by the look of horror on his face.

Chief shook his head slowly as he said, "I don't want to call his spirit to me. You don't say their names and you don't talk to the dead else they come to you. I don't want that."

"But you told me his name."

"That was the name they gave him, it wasn't his real name. His real name can't be said out loud."

Garrison thought that over. "If you were at home, would there be something you would do to mark this day?"

"I don't know. Gouyen went off up into the mountains on the day he man died but I don't know what she did. All I know she was tired the next day when she come back."

"If there is something you need to commemorate his passing, just let me know. We don't have any mountains but if you wish to go out onto the grounds… Let me know if you are going and roughly where in case we have to leave suddenly." He left it at that. He trusted that the man would not go far. There was silence for a time and then he heard a quiet 'Thanks'.

Craig stood and walked back into the house. Eight to ten years old and already training to be a shaman. Apparently he was trained well enough to ease the pain of a young man who had just been beaten. Maybe it was just his presence that had helped. Either way Rudy had helped him and he had not been able to repay the debt. That was a heavy burden to carry.

"Thank you Rudy, for all you did."

Rudy Solari Dec 21, 1934 – Apr 23, 1991


End file.
